No Choice but Surrender (21 page)

Rose put a warm hand over her own trembling one. "He is not as fearsome as you believe. I know he has his moments, but his hatred is for the earl. You must try to forget all else.

His hatred is for the earl, Brienne," she repeated, "not for you."

"I hope above all else that that is so." Brienne looked up, and Rose patted her hand comfortingly.

"Leave the past behind you. I am trying to." Rose blushed. "Cumberland has provided ample diversion, I must say."

"I'm happy for you, Rose. I've wanted to tell you. I have a great fondness for Cumberland, and it's been heartening to see how happy you have made him."

Rose gave a youthful laugh. "He is a darling! I almost hope . . . no, I cannot say it, for then I shall be cursed!"

"I can say it then!" Brienne volunteered. "You almost hope he will ask you to marry him! There! It has been said, and you have no need for concern!"

Rose blushed becomingly and said, "I admit I have my hopes."

"Never fear. It will come to pass. It's all too clear in his face. When you enter the room, he is a whole new man!" She laughed out loud. "Like a boy in the first throes of painfully true love."

Both women giggled, but soon Rose grew serious. "I know this has been hard for you. The circumstances at Osterley are unusual. And you're much too young for sorrow." She suddenly squeezed her hand. "Why, we both are! Promise me you will forget what has gone on before?"

Brienne regarded Rose for several seconds. There was no way to erase the impending doom of her father's arrival, nor was there any way to forget that she was being held at Osterley against her will. But even if Rose's friendship could not last, Brienne knew she would rather live in a temporary truce than in a permanent war. Her voice trembled as she smiled. "I suppose, at the very least, we could try."

Brienne arrived for dinner resplendent in peach-colored satin shot with gold thread. Cumberland and Rose greeted her in the gallery. After several minutes alone with them, Brienne determined that she had never seen two people more in love.

Cumberland
was his dear self, but every glance, every gesture, and every word seemed to be for Rose alone. And Rose, feeling relieved and at peace, was like a sweet, blushing maiden again under his petting attentions.

As they waited for Avenel to arrive, Brienne sat quietly in an elbow chair, listening to the conversation but happily resigned not to have to be a part of it. It was enough to be among such goodwill, and she reveled in the serenity it brought to her troubled soul.

Soon Avenel arrived, and Brienne instinctively turned her marred cheek away from his sight, hoping she had hidden the mark under enough powder that he wouldn't notice it. He walked around to give Rose a brotherly peck on the cheek, but when he came to her, he stopped dead. Without making a sound he turned her bruised cheek to the firelight and brushed the swelling very lightly with his thumb. At his touch on her tender, battered skin, she tried to hide her involuntary wince, but it could not be obscured. Avenel's jet eyebrows came together in a frown, and his diamond eyes sparkled with un- vented rage.

"Don't be angry." Brienne tried to placate him. "Don't be angry tonight."

"That bastard!"
Re cursed. But his frosty eyes met her gentian ones, and he softened. Taking her hand, he bent to it in a courtly fashion. After placing a genteel kiss on its back, he raised himself and said, "You're
more lovely
than ever, my lady. Culpepper could never make your beauty less than perfect."

Thankful that the storm had been averted, Brienne took the chair Avenel offered at the table.
When they all were seated, dinner commenced in a most amiable fashion.
There were a few bland comments about the ball, but everyone skirted the issue of Lady Venetia and her father. Avenel had never been so agreeable, and Brienne found herself basking in his charm and unusual good nature.

It did not seem long before the candles had burned down to stubs and the fire had been reduced to a glowing pile of embers. Dessert had been served and cleared, leaving the four of them sitting with their half-empty wineglasses and quiet talk. It was then that Cumberland's and Rose's facts took on a special glow, and Cumberland stood to make the announcement. He cleared his throat once or twice and then commenced.

"I am a lucky man tonight. I have been blessed with the company of two extraordinarily beautiful women." He raised his glass to both Rose and Brienne, but Brienne hardly noticed, waiting in excited anticipation of the news. "One of them,'' Cumberland continued, "in her profound humility and grace has accepted my offer of marriage." He smiled, and Rose held out her left hand to show off the ring that he had given her. It was set with a large, square-cut emerald that flamed with highlights of the deepest blue. Brienne exclaimed at its beauty, and it brought them all to their feet to exchange garbled simultaneous congratulations and the thanks that went with them. Avenel quickly rushed a footman off for the best champagne in the cellar, and soon there was toasting and light- hearted laughter.

"We plan to go to London. However"—Cumberland cleared his throat uncomfortably—"considering the immediacy of the situation here at the Park, I should think we won't be gone more than a week."

"I'm sure we'll be back all too soon, for we shall miss you both terribly." Rose took Brienne's hand and squeezed it with new-found warmth.

"You shall not miss us a bit." Avenel laughed heartily.
" 'Tis
folly to think so!"

They all laughed, and Rose smiled shyly. All too soon, the champagne was drunk, and Rose and Cumberland stood to retire to the drawing room. They walked ahead of Avenel and Brienne, already immersed in their plans for the wedding. Watching them go, Brienne touched Avenel's topcoat lightly to get his attention.

"What is it, wildflower?" He bent down to her and smiled with unusually carefree abandon.

"They need to be alone, Avenel." She nodded in their direction as they disappeared through the door to the drawing room. "So I find I must retire."

He looked down at her and stroked her deep auburn hair. He grew serious as he looked at her, and soon words seemed to flow unchecked from his mouth. "Stay with me tonight, little one. Come to my bed so that I can comfort you. I can make no promises now,
but . . ."
He stopped talking when he noticed how sad her eyes became with this last sentence. He added,
" 'Tis
unfair for you to look at me so.
Unfair that you make such demands with your eyes."

"I make no demands." She looked down from his face and studied the intricate brocade pattern on his perfectly tailored waistcoat.

"Your demands are as yet unspoken, but still . . ." He dropped his hands from her hair, and they swung lamely by his side. "Go, then. Go to your lonely room, and I will go to mine. But do not expect me to change my mind. And," he added enigmatically, "do not be surprised if you find you have changed yours." She looked up at him questioningly, but there was no answer in his stoic face. She backed away from him and turned to leave. Her head told her one thing and, as Avenel somehow knew, her heart told her another.

"Wait!" Brienne laughed, and her breath trailed behind her in frigid little puffs. She ran through the dormant kitchen gardens and headed toward the waiting coach. Beneath her fur-lined cloak, she pulled up the petticoat of one of her finest gowns—a lavender silk lutestring with embroidered bunches of pale yellow flowers—and almost flew over to the pebbled drive in front of the house. Glad that her hair was neatly bound in netting, she held on to the small hat that perched daintily on her head, tied with satin ribbons of butter yellow.

"You will make me late!" Rose cried from the coach, looking happy and beautiful wrapped in several layers of wedding white ermine. Peeking out from the fur blankets was her wedding gown, a lustrous periwinkle with a cream-colored satin petticoat; both were heavily brocaded in gold and silver threads.

When Brienne reached the coach, she allowed the footman to help her into it. Once inside, she reverently placed the well- trimmed branches of orange blossoms onto Rose's lap.

"They are beautiful!
Brienne, how thoughtful!"
Rose exclaimed and held the flowers, which were carefully bound by a white satin ribbon, to her nose. She inhaled their heady fragrance, which filled Avenel's japanned coach, and looking up, she said, "I wouldn't have believed those old trees in the Orangery could ever blossom again."

"It was their duty to blossom! Every bride needs fresh flowers on her wedding day!" Brienne leaned over to smell them as Rose held them out to her.

"I'm so happy. I never thought I would feel like this again." Rose looked out the coach window as they made their way over Osterley's grounds and through the gates to the small church in the township. It was a beautiful day. Brilliant, powerful sunshine beat down from the azure plain of the sky. With it, even the hard, winter earth was compelled to soften for Rose's wedding.

Brienne let out an unusually contented sigh and looked back at the weeks preceding this day.

She and Rose had spent many a happy hour planning the wedding, and during the evenings the two women, Cumberland, and Avenel had gathered in the gallery to dine and discuss the new arrangements. Brienne had seen very little of Avenel; he had made several day trips to London with Cumberland to make certain purchases, as well as arrangements for the honeymoon. But always, when the two men returned, Avenel was full of good spirits. He beckoned Brienne once again to go riding with him. She smiled secretly as she remembered the day she had first returned to Queenie's back. Avenel had walked over to her and the mare to instruct her in equitation. Placing a lingering, warm hand upon her ankle, he had pushed her heel down into the stirrup, and then, as if embarrassed by the moment, he had told her gruffly to keep it there or she would get into all sorts of trouble. She had tried to behave maidenly and to look away from him then, but it was no use; her feelings for him were growing every day, and they were anything but virginal. They were becoming terrible and magnificent—and harder and harder to deny.

She now sat back in the coach and pondered the future. She had grown to love Cumberland and Rose dearly, but she had to admit that she envied them their security. For as long as she could remember, she had never had that. It was as if she'd been born in a boxwood maze, and no matter what path she took in the topiary, it led to the same dead end, and she could never get out.

The coach pulled up in front of the church, where Cumberland and Avenel stood. All types of townsfolk had seen the posted banns and were there to wish the bride and groom well. After allowing the wedding party to enter, the well-wishers pushed their way into the church, filling every available pew. But a hush fell upon the crowd as the minister started to speak the words of matrimony. Avenel stood by Cumberland, and Brienne watched as his eyes fixed on Rose, who in her happiness appeared much younger than she was. Brienne knew as he watched Rose speak her vows that Avenel was seeing another wedding day twenty years before, and suddenly she could not bear to look at him, afraid she would see that accusing look in his eyes today. But soon she felt his gaze upon her, and Brienne unwillingly lifted her eyes. She expected to see a damning look on his face, but instead there was a look of such open, shameless longing that she found she could not look away. She was held for a long moment spellbound by his compelling, unhooded emotions, which were so rarely unguarded.

The ceremony was soon over, and the spell that had transfixed Brienne was broken by the strange mix of tears and laughter that is seen only at weddings. Rose and Cumberland, now husband and wife, each gave her a hug and then moved over to the other well-wishers. The minister quickly invited the four of them to the parsonage to enjoy a glass of claret, and before Brienne realized it, Rose and Cumberland were sitting in the new coach that would take them to London.

"You take care of him, Brienne," Rose said, referring to Avenel. "He can be such a stuffy fellow at times. He needs you to make him laugh." She bent down from the carriage seat and kissed Brienne on her cheek. Unashamedly holding Cumberland's hand, Rose then took Avenel's jaw in her other hand and whispered something to him that Brienne overheard: "I have forgiven her, Avenel. Today in my happiness I think I could even forgive Oliver Morrow. This is the only advice I will ever give you, love: Forget the past. We can, and you must, or you will never find peace." With that, she dropped her hand from his face. Cumberland impatiently signaled the driver to be off.

Waving at them until they were just a speck on the horizon, Avenel finally said, "I think they have both made a very fine choice."

"They are very lucky to have each other." She looked up at him with serious purple eyes. He frowned as he watched
her,
he appeared older today than his real age of four and thirty. Perhaps it was the memories that made him so, Brienne thought.

Avenel put his large hand on the small of her back and started to help her up into his carriage. She turned to him and said, "It's such a beautiful day, Avenel. I'd like to walk back to the house."

"You want to walk?" He looked at her in disbelief. His dark head bent down to her so that he could see her face more closely. "This is unheard of!
A lady of the realm wanting to soil her satin slippers in the mire of the roadside?"

"I haven't been allowed from the Park for so long, and I thought—" she started to explain, but two strong fingers touched her lips to quiet her before she could go on.

"You .needn't give me reasons for your odd behavior, Brienne. I know about the eccentricities of the nobility." He looked up at the cold blue sky and then smiled most charmingly. "Besides, I was thinking the same thing but did not wish to impose my desires on you." He took her by the hand and laughed at the incredulous look she flung at him.

"You?
Not wanting to impose your wishes on me?" she exclaimed wryly as they walked through the sleepy township. "That is like King Henry VIII telling his wife he would wish for no divorce!"

"Quiet, you hoyden!
Tis time you were taught respect for your elders, especially when they are so accommodating." He scowled blackly at her, but when she let out an impudent giggle, she saw a flash of amusement in his eyes.

As they came to the end of the tiny township, they both seemed to slow down. It was as if they both knew their walk would end soon and they were trying to savor each other's company before the realities at Osterley would once again rise between them. As they wandered leisurely along the roadside, they met a shy young girl dressed in indigo homespun. Her mud-water brown hair was neatly tied up in a severe topknot and covered by a dog-eared cap; her face was clear and freshly scrubbed.

"I think she is trying to get our attention, Avenel," Brienne said, pulling on his sleeve irreverently. She smiled at the girl, and soon the waif was smiling back, showing her few teeth.

"Good day to you, Mistress Jill." Avenel looked down at the small, thin girl, and his look made her blush profusely. The girl motioned for them to come into the cottage that stood in front of them. Avenel did not seem surprised by the invitation. "Have you been taking care of your charge?" he asked the girl when they entered the thatched cottage. Dutifully the girl nodded her head and gave another uneven grin.

As Brienne stood by Avenel's side, she spotted an old woman sitting in the darkness of the windowless mud-frame, cottage. She turned toward the light from the door and Brienne almost gasped at the woman's appearance. The woman looked like a witch out of a child's nightmare. Warts disfigured her chin and nose, sprouting gray hairs like grass on a hillside. With a shapeless, toothless mouth, the old woman drooled when she smiled, as she did now. Having grown accustomed to the darkness, Brienne saw that the hag's eyes were unnaturally white and probably sightless.

"Mistress Blake. How do you fare today? I see you have your new roof," Avenel said in a loud, firm voice. Yet he refrained from shouting at the old woman.

"Aye, 'tis such a pleasure, what having me dry and toasty."
The old woman cackled, and drool slid down the corner of her mouth. "Sit with me for the bye, will you? And take me thanks in a cup of brew." Mistress Blake waved in the direction of a large black kettle that steamed slowly over a small bed of coals. The girl, Jill, who still hadn't spoken, went to the kettle and stirred the brew. She ladled it into earthenware mugs that she graciously handed first to Brienne and then to Avenel. After completing the task, Jill bowed back into the dark recesses of the room.

Brienne looked anxiously at Avenel, but he merely stood by the fireside, drinking the witch's brew. Not wanting to appear ungrateful, Brienne timidly took a taste of the liquid, hoping she wouldn't gag. But when the brew touched her tongue, she was surprised to discover that she liked it. It was made with smooth cider, fresh cream, and mysterious spices. In no time she was sipping on it happily.

"You come not alone, Lord Oliver?" old Mistress Blake questioned.

Brienne gave a confused start at the name. She turned to Avenel and whispered, "Why did she call you that?"

Forbiddingly, Avenel shook his head.
" 'Tis
a young woman with me, Mistress Blake. She hails from the Colonies in America."

"And a winsome one, no doubt!
For you
were
always one for the ladies, Lord Oliver. I remember well." The old woman cackled again.

"Avenel, correct her!" Brienne whispered. "How can you allow her to call you that despised name?"

"Come here, lass! I canna see you but for my fingers." Mistress Blake beckoned.

Brienne's eyes darted toward Avenel, who gave her a reassuring look. Timidly, she moved closer to the old woman and knelt down beside her. Ten gnarled fingers touched her face, thoroughly examining Brienne's features. Then Mistress Blake grabbed a lock of her hair and turned in the direction of Avenel's voice. "What be the color?"

" 'Tis
the color of dark red, but more so. I have never seen anything like it." Avenel gazed at Brienne's hair, taking in the magenta highlights that gleamed even in the faint light of the burning coals.

"You tell this old woman tales, my laird. She is not from the Colonies, for I know this one, do I not?" Mistress Blake released the lock of Brienne's hair. "Her eyes
be
the fairest and strangest color." She turned toward Brienne. "You, child, are not an easy one to forget. You came from Osterley with the false one."

"With Master Slane?"
Brienne questioned her, but there was no answer. "Lord Oliver is gone now—" She tried to correct the befuddled old woman, but Avenel took her by the arm and pulled her up from the floor.

"We must take our leave," he said. "If you find you are wanting again, send the girl to the Park." Still holding her arm tightly, Avenel ushered Brienne out the door before she had time to thank the two women for their hospitality.

"Why did we leave so abruptly?" Brienne cried as they walked briskly toward the estate. Avenel was silent until they were a safe distance from Mistress Blake's. Then he turned around and gazed at the roof of the distant cottage.

" 'Tis
a fine roof, is it not?" he said, ignoring her question. He stood looking at the tightly bound thatch that was three feet thick in some places. The dry, golden grass was shorn in a diamond pattern on the pitch but was smooth over the two dormers.

"I don't care about the roof! You were rude to interrupt me when I was trying to help the poor old creature. Mistress Blake is living under a misconception, Avenel. How could you not correct her?"

"She is old, Brienne, old and befuddled. She finds solace not in corrections but in a warm place to live and in companionship. That is all the help she needs." He grasped her arm, and again he walked rapidly, forbidding Brienne to appreciate the rare and glorious winter's day.